Friday, August 28, 2020

CS DAYAKAR

 A Feisty All-rounder

By V Ramnarayan

Sometimes we tend to forget quiet interventions by individuals that have life-changing impacts on our lives. I for one have been guilty of failing to mention the crucial role CS Dayakar, my friend and spin twin of the 1960s, played in my cricket career while writing the story of my days as a cricketer. Looking back more than fifty years on, I realise what a gross omission that was, comparable to the lack of selectorial recognition that prevented Dayakar from exhibiting his sterling qualities as a left-hand all rounder to  wider audiences than the spectators watching college and league cricket in Madras during the two decades he was active in them.

I first met Dayakar at Vivekananda College during our Pre-University Course days in the academic year 1963-64. We knew each other as decent cricketers, but did not have too many interactions as we were in different groups, and while I think he was a member of the college team, I was not. I went on to Presidency College next year, and miraculously got selected to the college cricket team thanks to the efforts of two good Samaritans. The first of them was another left hander ‘Alley’ R Sridhar, who made sure I attended the selection trials after I had gone to college that day without my cricket kit, positive that I stood no chance of being picked. Living much closer to college than I, Alley rushed home during lunch and brought me white trousers and canvas shoes and dragged me forcibly to the nets in the evening. The second benefactor was the late Ram Ramesh, the captain of the Vivekananda College team, who in the previous season had failed to convince the Physical Director that I was good enough for his squad, and felt guilty about it. (It was his recommendation that had facilitated my turning out, quite successfully, for Jai Hind CC in the Madras league that same season). Ramesh was a towering presence—literally—at the Presidency selection nets, where he stood next to captain Bhaskar Rao and senior player Rajamani and brainwashed them into including  me in the team.

Dayakar had meanwhile lost a year by missing the PUC Sanskrit exam. He too joined Presidency next year, in the BSc Geology course, if I remember right—to my Chemistry major. I was a veteran of one season when he became my teammate in the academic year ’65-‘66, and we eventually forged what was arguably the most successful spin pair in Madras’s college cricket circuit for the next few years. There were quite a few class acts around, S Venkataraghavan, for example, leading a superb Engineering College attack, but few were limited to a pair of spinners as we were, though we too were for a while bolstered by the presence of a third spinner—in leggie PS Ramesh.

Dayakar was an accomplished all rounder, a gutsy one who invariably reserved his best for the toughest opposition. He belonged to a family of talented cricketers. His brothers Ekambaram, Kothandaraman, Padmanabhan, Umapathy and Kadiresan were all competitive and more than competent players.  A couple of them played first class cricket, Umapathy has for long been a coach in the MRF Pace Foundation, while the youngest brother Kathiresan, an excellent off-spinner-all rounder, was distinctly unlucky not to  graduate to Ranji Trophy cricket.

Dayakar bowled his left arm spin in a lovely arc, with a whiplash of an action that made the ball hurry off the wicket. His length and line were spot on, and the batsman had to contend with an awkward length that could create an optical illusion in the batsman. Our captain Ram—N Ram of The Hindu family—relied on him a great deal, sometimes bringing him on with the new ball.  When the shine was still intact, Dayakar bowled a deadly in-swinger to the right hander. He was in short a captain’s best friend who posed a complex mixture of problems to batsmen. I regarded him as a better bowler than me in our college years, and I always tried to play catch-up. He was the catalyst who—by both example and verbal encouragement—constantly pushed me to improve. We backed each other wholeheartedly and the outcome was a formidable combination that, with enthusiastic support from the fielders, won many a match for the team. Dayakar’s batting too was top class at that level—he rarely played at higher levels. He and other batsmen like John Alexander and Alley Sridhar were consistent scorers against strong teams, with all rounders Rajamani and SV Suryanarayanan chipping in creditably, especially if we lost our star batsmen like Ram and Premkumar early.    After these leading batsmen left college, we found fresh batting talents in the likes of MS Rajagopal and the lefthanded ‘Chama’ K Swaminathan.

Dayakar also pushed me hard to contribute in the batting department. We enjoyed some useful partnerships, even if the running between the wickets at his urging nearly caused my lungs to burst. It was an early wake-up call that forced me to work on my stamina and physical fitness. Though I made some runs, I was never in his class as a batsman.

Now for the crucial interventions Dayakar made in my cricket career. After my undergraduate degree, I was working at the desk in the Indian Express. It was work I had an aptitude for and enjoyed thoroughly, but I was unhappy enough with an instance of office politics to want to quit. At that precise moment came an invitation from Dayakar and the Presidency College Physical Director to go back there and do post graduate studies. With no prospect of playing serious cricket if I continued as a career journalist, I made the right decision in going back to college, as later events proved. With Dayakar and I enjoying elder statesmen status by now, we both thoroughly enjoyed resuming our partnership. Unfortunately, I had to discontinue my MA programme when my father’s poor health required my presence with the family at Calcutta, where Appa was working for Bank of India. By the time Appa got better, the first year MA exams were over, and I thought, “There goes my MA.” Dayakar waved his magic wand once again, and the college welcomed me back, allowing me to carry the three papers I had missed into the second year. Followed an excellent season for both of us, with several stellar all round performances by Dayakar ensuring that our relatively weak team often fought strong opposition gallantly and brought off a few unexpected wins. Leading the side, I had the great satisfaction of watching the considerable improvement of many newcomers  we managed to enable. 

One of the open secrets of our success that season was that Dayakar and I bowled every over from the time ‘Play’ was called in every important match, but allowed the others totally free to “express themselves” in 90% of all our matches, never yielding to the temptation to pick up relatively easy runs or wickets for ourselves. This was Dayakar’s brainchild, and I carried out the plan with conviction, but I regretted the strategy when I looked back on the season in later years, because it denied some good bowlers like PS Venkatesh, Osman Ali Khan and Kasi Viswanathan opportunities to prove themselves in stiff contests.

Dayakar and I were both selected to represent Madras University in the Rohinto Baria Trophy matches played at Dharwar, Karnataka, but my spin twin declined the offer fearing that he would not find a place in the playing eleven. I was disappointed with his decision, because I was keen to continue our bowling firm, which was now a well-oiled machine of five years’ standing. I had a reasonable if unspectacular outing for the university.

Dayakar’s final intervention in my career: Despite consistent success in college cricket for four consecutive seasons, I had been content to play in the lower divisions of the TNCA league, partly because I believed some people I trusted when they told me I was not ready yet for the First Division. Nothing could have been more absurd, and I was missing opportunities by underestimating my ability. It was Dayakar who bulldozed me at the start of the 1969-70 season into joining him at Alwarpet CC  being led by our former college captain N Ram. That was the first tentative step I took towards entering first class cricket.

I left Chennai in December 1970 to join State Bank of India in Andhra Pradesh, and wound my way soon to Hyderabad, where I made my Ranji Trophy debut nearly five years later, after long struggle. Dayakar joined Indian Overseas Bank, Madras, where he was a key member of the cricket team for a long time. Busy with my own cricket, family and banking career, I no longer followed Dayakar’s cricket closely. Was he ever considered fit material to represent the state in first class cricket? I have no doubt in my mind that Tamil Nadu let him and itself down by failing to acknowledge the merit of this fighting all round cricketer.  

Saturday, August 8, 2020

SO NEAR YET SO FAR

Jyothiprasad’s narrow miss


By V Ramnarayan

The scorecard does not always tell the whole story. For example, the card for the second innings of the Kerala vs. Hyderabad Ranji Trophy match at Warangal in the 1976-’77 season opened with the bland statement OK Ramdas/ caught Narasimha Rao/ bowled Ramnarayan/ 22. It failed to mention that the catch was off a ricochet after Ramdas picked me from outside the off stump and nearly decapitated short leg Jyothiprasad with an almighty sweep I can still hear 44 years later. Poor Jyothi, my partner in crime on so many occasions, with his brilliant close-in catching, rarely took early evasive action, preferring to keep his eye on the ball longer than most other short legs. This time OK gave him no chance, and I thought I would never be able to bowl again, so distraught was I. Joe, as we called him, was leaving for Baroda the next day to represent South Zone in back to back Deodhar Trophy and Duleep Trophy matches against West Zone. He left the field immediately after the injury, probably on a stretcher, and once in the dressing room,  treated himself to some inspired self-medication—a quarter bottle of Hercules XXX rum neat. All of us followed Jyothi’s fortunes anxiously after we disposed of Kerala and returned to Hyderabad, and we received both good news and bad news. Jyothi had a spectacular Deodhar Trophy match with five wickets, including the prize scalp of Sunil Gavaskar, whom he bowled for zero. His Duleep performance could have been equally dramatic—with a little bit of luck. He bowled the first ball of the West Zone innings, and surprised by a powerful straight drive, dropped the catch. The batsman was again Sunil Manohar Gavaskar—who went on to make 228. Earlier, Joe (40) had been involved in a fighting eighth wicket partnership of 102 with Brijesh Patel (85) in South Zone’s first innings total of 236.

Coming back to the Warangal match, I had a decent match with the ball except for the injury to Joe, with 4 for 31 and 1 for 1. I however sustained a bruised ego, because I had always prided myself on my clean record of close-in fielder safety while I was bowling. (The only other aberration occurred years later in a local match at Chennai, the unlucky short leg this time MA Sriram, a talented left handed all rounder who now lives in the US). Ramdas was not the only sweep specialist in the Kerala side. The talented Ramesh Sampath, a cousin of S Venkataraghavan, and an engineer working at ISRO, was making waves with his attacking batsmanship. A compulsive sweeper, he had an excellent record against the Karnataka and Tamil Nadu bowlers whom he must have irritated with his irreverent shotmaking regardless of the bowlers’ reputation. Thanks to my captain Jaisimha’s expert mentoring, I knew a thing or two about how to counter sweep specialists. Ramesh was a good friend, and in the course of breakfast table banter, he said to me, “Ram, don’t get me out today.” Remembering that he had got out to me sweeping on my debut the previous season, I shot back, “Don’t sweep me, and I promise not to get you.” Sure enough, when he came into bat, Ramesh swept me first ball—straight down square leg Noshir Mehta’s throat. Ramesh seemed to have a bright future in cricket, but tragically drowned at a Goa beach a couple of years later.

My debut season had been a happy experience, and team morale had been pretty high, umtil we crashed out in the quarter finals after gaining a first innings lead against Bombay. This year, I had missed the disastrous season opener against Andhra at Eluru, away playing for Rest of India versus Bombay in the Irani Cup at Delhi. When I joined the team at Warangal, I found a strange mood of negativity and what seemed like lack of cohesion following an alleged attempt by wicket keeper to replace Jaisimha as captain. It was all very disappointing. Murti was a close friend of mine and quite a protégé of Jai as well. Playing for Hyderabad was never again going to be as consistently fulfilling and thrilling as during my first season, though there were to be many happy moments along the way. Tiger Pataudi and Abbas Ali Baig had retired at the end of the previous season, and Jaisimha would hang up his boots at the end of this one. He had led the team for nearly two decades.

Saturday, August 1, 2020

VARALAMA?

Sarvam Thaalamayam

A Film by Rajiv Menon

I finally got round to watching Rajiv Menon’s inspirational feature film Sarvam Thaalamayam (STM), a sensitive treatment of the subject of caste and elitism in the world of Carnatic music, the classical music of south India. It also highlights the sweet taste of success that passion and love for your art can bring against all odds, and despite chicanery and opposition at every stage. 

The movie is about the obsession of a young lad hailing from a dalit Christian family—mridangam makers for generations—with learning to become a concert percussionist in Carnatic music. Rejection and ostracism all round, with his parents and finally even his compassionate guru joining in a shattering chorus of disapproval, almost crush his dreams. He despairs of ever finding a teacher as great as his erstwhile guru, but in a moment of epiphany, follows the selfless advice of his godsend of a girlfriend and seeks teachings from the bewildering variety of musics—folk, devotional, romantic, martial, festive—that India abounds in. The miracle that reunites him with his guru who relents from his earlier orthodox contempt for reality shows and trains him for one, and the boy’s eventual triumph in the contest make for a memorable climax. In the finale, even a wily judge opposed to him is moved enough by Peter’s extraordinary originality (inspired by his eclectic journey of discovery) to award him a perfect ten.

The movie does not follow a hardline narrative. Nowhere is caste even mentioned. Though we know from Johnson’s name that he is Christian, we only learn he is dalit by inference—the community are known in the south to be makers of the mridangam requiring the usage of the skin of cattle, and Peter and Johnson Senior are served in plastic cups, not the usual glasses, in a teastall. What I like even more are the lack of condescension in the manner the screenplay treats the protagonist’s hysterical affiliation to  popular film star Vijay’s fan club and the absence of melodrama in scenes showing blood donation to child cancer victims and other good deeds of the street fighters of the movie. Of humour, there is no shortage. As when the venerable mridangam guru fails to  suppress his mirth at Peter’s instant recognition of Vijayadasami day. “June 22, sir, it is Vijay sir’s birthday!”

Even Mani, the most villainous character of the film is not all bad. Here again, the director makes no attempt at showing ‘the villain’s’ transformation when he redeems himself in the final scene after scheming to get Peter defeated by his disciple—one he stole from under his guru’s nose. He is instead seen as won over by the sheer brilliance of the new champion’s percussion. The loser, too, is a gallant runner-up, not an object of ridicule.

Rajiv Menon has extracted exceptional performances from an ensemble cast coincidentally represented by the greatest diversity of caste and community imaginable. Nedumudi Venu breathes life into the role of eminent mridanga vidwan Vembu Iyer, an unbending traditionalist wedded to his art, who can spot talent no matter where it resides, while Vineeth as his senior sishya Mani jealous of new arrival GV Prakash Kumar is unrecognisable from the matinee idol we have known in the past, Prakash himself effortlessly straddles multiple personae from Vijay fan through hip hop drummer to street fighter to obsessive convert to the magic of classical mridangam and Kumaravel is effortlessly credible as Johnson, the inheritor of a legacy of mridangam-making that allows him no self-indulgence, no illusions about acceptance into the exalted world of classical music. Sumesh Narayanan, an accomplished vidwan of NRI origin, brings dignified credibility to his role. Shanta Dhananjayan and Aparna Balamurali quietly lend substance to their roles as the women who intervene strategically in Peter Johnson’s journey towards fulfilment. Vocalists Unnikrishnan, Sikkil Gurucharan and Srinivas play delightful cameos as judges at the reality show. The music direction by AR Rahman is impeccable and appropriate scene for scene, shot by shot. The Carnatic music segments are totally authentic, with no attempt to woo the box office.

The main reason why I took so long to watch STM was that I mistook it to be a new avatar of a Rajiv Menon-made documentary on mridangam maestro Umayalpuram K Sivaraman, which I had seen a few years ago. I was delighted to see UKS’s name in the credits to STM. His inputs and personal example are clearly evident in the film. Sivaraman did impart his art to his dalit mridangam maker’s son, didn’t he?

I think STM is an important step towards inclusiveness in classical music. Elitism and casteism are indefensible in any walk of life, but to paint whole generations of classical musicians as blatant perpetuators of discrimination and indulge in strident name-calling would seem to be just so much posturing rather than a sincere attempt at reform. The enlightened among our musicians, in both the north and the south, have embraced diversity in their art as well as their fellow artists. STM ends on a positive note, which is not to say that it offers easy redress to centuries-old injustice. Instead, it suggests that together we can overcome rather than annihilate.

In an online or TV discussion, Rahman and Menon disclosed that the film was originally tentatively named “Varalama?” the opening word of the beautiful title song, apparently inspired by Gopalakrishna Bharati’s classic ‘Varugalano Ayya’ from the movie Nandanar Charitam. While Nandan’s song in Dandapani Desigar’s bell-like voice was a plaintive appeal to Nataraja to let him enter the Tillai temple,  ‘Varalama’ is a plea by an outsider to be admitted to the exclusive sanctum of classical music. ‘Varalama’ more accurately describes the story of Johnson’s yearning than ‘Sarvam Thaalamayam’, which stresses the presence of rhythm in every aspect of life.  

V Ramnarayan                                                                                                                                 `